


The Black Night

by ideliagirl



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: AU-WWII Resistance, But uses him for secret info, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Eventual all out war, F/M, Jon's a Resistance leader, Lannisters are the Nazis, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sansa is one of their agents, She's stuck with Baelish, The Night's Watch are Resistance fighters, mentions of non-con/rape elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-20
Updated: 2017-07-11
Packaged: 2018-11-16 14:02:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11254437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ideliagirl/pseuds/ideliagirl
Summary: WWII Resistance AUThe Black Night refers to the starless night in 1940 when King Robert Baratheon died under mysterious circumstances and his ill-mannered and disliked son Joffrey began his regency under the thumb of his equally ill-mannered and disliked mother, Queen Cersei Lannister. All legitimate and unrestricted forms of dissent are stomped out under the boots of their stormtroopers, The White Guard--led by the Queen's twin brother.A year to the day after The Black Night, vocal critic and Warden of the North's son, Robb Stark, is killed by White Guards as they break up a peaceful rally protesting the harsh restrictions the new reign has put on everyday life. Jon Snow, Robb's childhood best friend, is there to watch him die.The restrictions and death have the opposite effect than what the Lannisters had intended, as a resistance begins to brew so far beneath the surface that even The White Guard can't eradicate it.Jon has given up everything else in his life to help lead that resistance. But when Robb's sister Sansa re-enters Jon's life, he may find something more to live for.





	1. What are you doing here?

**Author's Note:**

> Resistance spies with nothing else to live for but the cause find love with each other. Say it with me....awww.
> 
> Have no idea how this will turn out, but thought I'd give it a try.

 

The air inside the abandoned manor was thick with cigarette smoke, tension and body odor. Given that there was a stifling chill outside and the manor’s windows needed to remain closed and blackout drapes pulled shut for security purposes, there was little chance the air would dissipate anytime soon.

Sansa was ushered to the main parlor which had been converted long ago into a room where maps--geographical, political, census—of all the areas north of The Riverlands had been tacked upon every wall and spread out over every table. Markings that indicated agent locations, White Guard troop movements, and resources available to The Resistance, were scribbled all over those maps.

“This is Black Castle. Or at least this sector’s version.”

“Black Castle?”

Samwell Tarly smiled shyly, stuttering slightly. “Black Castle is the designation given to the safe house in every sector. All information recovered by agents goes through it and only Black Castles can disseminate intelligence and communicate with other Black Castles.”

“What if The White Guard ever came charging in?” Sansa asked her guide. “Wouldn’t having all this information discovered in one place be devastating to The Resistance?”

“The intelligence changes every day, so does the code we use to communicate it all.” Sam explained kindly. “But if we were to have anything of absolutely vital importance in Black Castle on that dark day the Lannister cronies come storming at us, the armed sentries posted half-mile out, quarter-mile out, and just outside the manor, all have buttons that allow for the detonation of the whole place.”

“So, if White Guards attack and the information inside the manor is too valuable for them to get,” Sansa supplemented in disbelief, thinking of the dozen or so people milling around the house. “then any people inside get blown up as well?”

Sam nodded. “All the Black Brothers are willing to die to keep The Resistance alive.”

“Black Brothers?”

“People fighting for the cause.”

Sansa smiled wryly at the gentle, portly man. “So, if I choose to join The Resistance, will I be a….. Black Sister?”

“You don’t just choose The Resistance,” A raspy voice spoke from behind her. “ _We_ have to choose _you_ as well.”

Sansa turned to see a brooding—yet remarkably handsome—man with soft black curls standing at one of the tables, making adjustments on its map. She chuckled sarcastically. “Seems a little clique-ish.”

The man finally looked up at her from his map. Face blank, eyes unreadable. “Just what do you think a revolution designed to throw off an oppressive and violent regime requires?” He walked to her, his manner encroaching. “And if you weren’t sure you’d die for the cause by the time you walked in here…you’ve seen too much already and the men with guns Sam spoke of will take care of you.”

Sansa drew in a trembling breath. “No. I’m willing to give anything to stop the Lannisters.” She tucked a dyed-brown strand of hair behind her ear. “I use humor when I’m nervous. But my sister used to say if I was gonna use it, I needed to be funnier.”

“Who are you?”

Sam spoke up. “This is the girl I was telling you about, she has information regarding—“

“She can _say_ she has information about anything,” the brooding man cut off. “has anyone checked on it?”

“Of course.” Sam rolled his eyes. Sansa had a feeling Sam was one of few who could roll his eyes at this man and keep them in his sockets. “We conducted the raid from two nights ago with what she provided, and it gave us vital intelligence—some of which you were probably scribbling on that map. If what she gave us had turned out to be useless, Mormont would never have given the go-ahead for her to come into Black Castle.”

Rather than soften or show Sam any sense of apology, the other man set his attention fully to Sansa. “Who are you?”

“Sansa.” She answered without thought.

“Sansa?” The man showed his first emotion: shock. “Sansa Stark?”

Sansa visibly paled and shook her head. “No. No, um, no. That’s just a name I giv—“

He reached out and grabbed her arm. “First of all, you _should_ come up with a fake name to use in dangerous situations, but come up with a better one than _that_ —I’ve only heard of _one_ person named Sansa, and so has everyone else. Second of all, if you’re gonna be a Black Sister—and yes, we do call them that—learn to lie better. Third of all…..” he began to look like he might shed a tear. “Sansa, what the hell are you doing here?”

Sansa jerked back and narrowed her eyes. “Do I know you?”

Sam tried to make introductions. “This is Jon. Our leader for this sector.” He looked between the two of them. “You know each other?”

Sansa shook her head. Jon chucked darkly.

“Have I really changed so much since Robb and I used to hide your dolls from you?”

Sansa audibly swallowed. “Jon…Snow?”

 

 

“So,” Jon took a drag of the hand-rolled cigarette and passed it to Sansa. “you’ve taken up with Baelish?”

“Or Baelish took up with me, depends which way you look at it.” Sansa took a drag and coughed loudly, shoving it back into his hand. “Seven hells, Jon. What is in that?”

Jon laughed under his breath, looking around the tiny woods next to the manor house. “With all the rations imposed on The North, we haven’t had real tobacco north of The Neck in months.”

“Baelish is how I’m able to get most of the information I’ll pass on to you. Um…..about him…..” Sansa looked down at her feet, kicking away some of the brush. “I didn’t go with him—I’m not on his side. He implored Queen Cersei to transfer my guardianship from the Boltons to Aunt Lysa and brought me to ‘ _study’_ at The Eyrie. Cersei allowed it because she sort of blamed Roose Bolton for losing several key resources to northern Resistance fighters, and she thought having to relinquish control of one of Ned Stark’s orphans would be a real slap in the face for the new Warden of the North.” She then looked up at the snow falling from the winter sky. “But her desire to stick it to him wasn’t strong enough to allow Rickon to come with me.”

Jon reached to take her hand in his. “Sansa—“

“I could never be on Baelish’s side. If he hadn’t ‘ _rescued’_ me from my home, Rickon wouldn’t have been left alone at Winterfell to the Bolton’s devices.” She pulled her hand away before he could take it and discretely wiped away the tear that Jon had seen reflected on her cheek in the moonlight. “If there always had to ‘ _be a Stark in Winterfell’_ it should have been me. I could have handled myself there, but Rickon was still just a boy. A boy it was easy to say died ‘ _in an accident’_ while out hunting with Bolton’s sadist spawn, Ramsey.”

“And still no word on Arya?” Jon puffed into the deep night. “Or what happened to Bran?”

“Nobody’s seen or heard from Bran since the morning the doctors checked on him in the rehab hospital and he wasn’t there.”

Jon’s mouth quirked up hopefully. “But from what I hear, nobody’s seen Hodor either, and Hodor would be a lot harder to get rid of than a paralyzed twelve-year old.”

“And the siblings I hired to be health aides to Bran—Jojen and Meera Reed?” Sansa chuckled ruefully. “She carried a knife on her at all times, and he was so paranoid he had to know what was going on at all times, so he could be ten steps ahead of everyone else. You’d swear he could see the future. It’s possible they sensed something was wrong and got Bran out of there—exactly how I instructed them to if anything seemed amiss.”

“You hired some pretty frightening health aides, Sansa Stark.” Jon winked, adjusting his knit cap.

Sansa closed her eyes to shut out the demons. “I thought his life was in danger, since I think—since I _know_ the accident that hurt him, and killed Mom and Dad, was no accident.”

Jon nodded seriously before looking away. “And Arya?”

“Last tip I had on Arya was from Littlefinger, he said he’d heard it from Cersei’s head spy-master, but Baelish may have just been making it up to entice me to…….” She shuddered and stared forlornly at Jon. “Let’s just say he was expecting me to be grateful.”

Jon could barely croak out the words, “What was the tip?”

“That she was in Braavos, training to be an assassin under some shady outfit called ‘ _House of Black and White’_.” Sansa smiled proudly, but sadly. “Kinda liked the idea she’d be back to take out anyone who’d ever done the Starks wrong.”

Jon chuckled slightly, inhaling his smoke. “Sounds like her.”

Sansa shook her head. “She’s probably dead and Littlefinger just made up the story so I’d suck his cock.”

Jon’s eyes widened, but he quickly recovered to reach out and stroke her cheek. “Has he forced himself on you?”

“Anything more degrading than that?” Sansa scoffed, leaning into his palm. “No. He likes to pretend he’s actually left me a choice, and that I choose him. He also wants me to still be ‘ _pure_ ’, so he can marry me off to some strategic lord. Sometimes I’d bet he still thinks he could arrange something with Cersei.”

“Joffrey?” Jon nearly choked on his exhale. “Surely no one could be that cruel.”

“You _know_ Cersei could be if it suited her purposes.” Sansa replied resignedly. “And you shouldn’t underestimate Baelish.”

“You said you weren’t on his side.” Jon began slowly, snuffing out the cigarette. “Whose side is Baelish on? The Resistance thought it might be of great value if we could turn him.”

“It wouldn’t be of _any value_ to turn Baelish, because he’d just sell out The Resistance at the first sign the Lannisters would better further his own cause.”

“What’s Baelish’s cause?”

“Baelish.” Sansa answered knowingly, pulling her coat tighter against her frame. “Only a fool would trust Littlefinger.”

“You’re cold.” Jon cocked his head. “Let’s go back inside.”

She slowly began the path back to the manor. “Okay.”

They walked side by side, breath visible in the frigid night air.

“Sansa?”

“Yeah, Jon?”

“Your parents, Bran, the car accident,” Jon sighed loud enough the whole of The North could probably hear it. “we know it now, we have proof. It wasn’t an accident.”

“I never needed proof.” She didn’t turn or even shift her eyes over to him. “When someone tears your heart out, you know whether or not it’s an accident.”

 

 

 

 


	2. The Black Night amongst The Roses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FOUR MONTHS LATER.......

The afternoon sun flooded the tiny bedroom with a soft light and she laid listening to the sound of the winter wind rustling through the trees of the small, neglected godswood beside Black Castle. She tenderly ran her fingers through his head of silky black curls where it rested on her belly and took another drag of her cigarette (a _real_ cigarette—rationing may have had a chokehold on The North, but Petyr-Baelish-controlled The Vale was another thing all together).

Meanwhile _, his_ fingers played with the snap connecting her stockings to her garter, then danced along the edge of the stockings themselves, meeting the soft smoothness of her milky-white thigh. He turned his head to put his chin on her breastbone. “You’re sure it’s safe for you to come here?”

Sansa traced her thumb over his eyebrow. “Yohn Royce is loyal. Father and King Robert were fostered at The Eyrie and they were all three like brothers.” She paused when Jon shut his eyes in sadness. “Whenever Littlefinger goes off to see to his machinations, Aunt Lysa doesn’t want reminders I even exist, so Lord Royce smuggles me in and out of The Gates of the Moon.”

Jon sat up in the bed. “Even outside The Eyrie, Baelish has spies everywhere—“

“And I've no doubt they are on the lookout for redheaded, noble-born Sansa Stark, to ensure she never gets out.” Sansa twirled her fingers through her dyed-brown locks and nodded toward her plain, threadbare clothes flung over the chair near the bed. “But the girl who comes here is clearly neither.”

“Sansa, you have to be careful.” He took the cigarette from her, slowing inhaling. “The Resistance was gaining ground before, but the new funds The Reach has pledged the Lannisters in order to secure Margaery’s betrothal have reinvigorated The White Guard.” He looked at the smoldering object in his hand and shook his head. “While here in The North we can’t even get real cigarettes.”

“If you don’t want me to come anymore,” she sat up fully, “I’ll take my secrets, my real cigarettes—“ she took it back from him and snuffed it out in the nightstand’s ashtray, “ _and my lady parts_ ……and I’ll leave.”

“You think I don’t want you here?” He gently ran his hand over her stockinged thigh. “Sansa, sometimes I feel as though I live for the three hours every fortnight I get to have you.” He cupped his other hand around the back of her neck. “But I couldn’t bear it if something happened to you because you were coming here for me.”

“Jon, as much as I enjoy our time together, I don’t come here for you.” She traced her fingers down his bare chest. “I love you, I swear I do. And when all this ends, if we’re both still alive—you’re mine and I’m yours.”

His lips quirked to the side and tugged on a strand of her hair. “But?”

“I’m here for the cause.” She lightly traced his jaw, her face determined. “And if my life—my death—is what’s required to _bring_ all this to an end, then I won’t think twice about you……..I’ll just give it.”

He brought his forehead to hers. “I really wish I hadn’t been so quick to rub my fanaticism off on you.”

“You rather enjoy rubbing things on me.” Her husky voice replied mischievously, snaking her hand into his still-undone pants and finding his half-hard cock.

“Sansa.” He groaned as she lay back to the bed and pulled him on top of her, running a rough thumb over her naked breast. “I want to do right by you.”

Her eyes slipped shut at the touch and her head pushed back into the pillow. “You did right by me in giving me something to live for.”

“You just said you were willing to die.” He nuzzled into her neck.

“I _wanted_ to die before I came here, despondent and all alone in the world.” She ran her nails down his back, then clutched him close to her. “Wanting to die and being willing to die for something worthwhile are not the same thing.” She pulled his face to hers and cried out softly as he thrust deep into her slickness. “But you made me want _to live._ To want justice for those who are gone and to find those who’ve been torn from me……….to be free to live my life how I choose.”

He grasped her thigh and moved it upward toward her body, the angle allowing his thrusts to reach a spot inside her that made her gasp. Jon quirked an eyebrow and smirked. “With me?”

She nodded, taking his hand off her breast and bringing it to her mouth, sucking his thumb and sliding her tongue along the rough skin. She let it go and he ran it across her bottom lip. “With you. Of course, with you.”

 

They lingered too long in the afterglow and were forced to exchange their information as they dressed.

“I can’t believe you’re invited to Joffrey’s wedding. I know the Lannisters are keen to keep up appearances, but your family was one of the main detractors to their rule.” Jon pulled his t-shirt back over his head. “Surely they know how stupid it is to have you there and remind everyone of the House that stood against them.”

“Ahh, but there is no more House. My family is gone. I’m all that’s left.” Her hand reached back to snap her bra into place. “How better to show the infallibility of the Lannister reign than to have the lone survivor of House Stark as an honored guest celebrating their king’s wedding?” She laughed as she stepped into her dress. “Of course, the real reason is just for Cersei and Joffrey to rub in my face that it could have been me.”

He stood behind her and buttoned up the back before kissing her neck. “Not realizing you thank the gods every night that you’re not going to be a fucking Lannister queen.”

“Not realizing that I’d rather be The Black Night’s spy,” she turned to him as he buttoned his own shirt, “Jon Snow’s fortnightly whore,” she slipped her hand around the back of his neck, kissing him soundly then gently biting his lower lip, “than ever be Joffrey _Lannister’s_ queen.”

 

He pulled the bedroom door shut behind them and they walked hand-in-hand down the stairs, pulling apart when they entered the parlor. Tormund Gianstbane stood examining a map that hung on the wall and he turned when he saw them out the corner of his eye.

“Ah, Snow! And I see the lovely Alayne Stone has graced our presence yet again. Been here long?” He winked at them both. “What am I saying? If Snow’s already done fucking you, you can’t have been here more than two minutes.”

“I’ve been here over two _hours_ and this is the first time I’ve seen your stupid face,” she smirked back at him. “so Snow _must_ be showing me a good time.”

“HAH!” Tormund reared his ginger head back. “Nice that somebody enjoys his small pecker.”

“Gianstsbane! Snow!” A booming voice called from a corner of the parlor. “Quit tittering like twelve-year old girls and bring our guest over.”

They made their way over to a large desk and the old man sitting behind it looked up, grinning widely at Sansa and gesturing to one of the chairs before him. “Have a seat, my lady.”

Sansa was quick to correct so her true identity not be revealed to the other half-dozen or so milling about the parlor. “Alayne Stone is not a _lady_ , Commander Mormont.”

“Term of affection, my dear.” He shrugged. “If it’s acceptable to call you ‘ _my dear’,_ that is.”

She smiled softly as she sat. “Of course, Ser Jeor.”

“When are you catching the train to King’s Landing?”

“A week.” Sansa nodded.

Jeor seemed to ponder. “So you’ll be in the Capitol for three days?”

“Six days.” She corrected. “Margaery Tyrell has asked that I remain in King’s Landing for a short time after she and King Joffrey have left for their honeymoon.”

“Even better.” Jeor’s bushy eyebrows quirked. “Why would that be?”

“Lady Olenna Tyrell can be……” Sansa gave a small knowing smile. “tricky, to say the least.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“She’s heading back to Highgarden three days after the wedding. But Margaery’s father is remaining to sit on the small council.” Sansa chuckled to herself. “The nicest thing Olenna’s ever said _to_ or _about_ her son Mace is that he’s the High Oaf of Highgarden. Margaery and Loras used to be the buffer between The Queen of Thorns and their father, but ever since Loras ran off to Lys with Renly Baratheon, that job has been solely Margaery’s.”

Jeor sat back in his chair. “So the soon-to-be-new-queen has charged you with keeping the peace amongst The Roses?”

“Margaery and I were friends in boarding school,” Sansa looked to Jon. “another reason I was invited to the wedding.” She shrugged. “And back when I was a stupid girl who wanted knights and flowers and fairytales, I used to prefer being Margaery’s guest at Highgarden during school-term breaks to going home to the frozen North. I would tell my parents it was because travel to Winterfell was too long, but it was really because I had a mad crush on Loras and reveled in Tyrell finery as opposed to Stark austerity.”

“So, you spent a lot of time with the Tyrells?”

Sansa nodded. “For whatever reason, Grandmother Olenna took a liking to me then—and is especially kindly to me now with my family tragedies. Margaery thinks I’ll be able to temper her ornery ways, at least for the three days Olenna and Mace are together without her there.”

“Works out better than we could have hoped.” Tormund gruffed behind her.

“How’s that?” Sansa looked to him.

“Will you be able to have time with Lady Tyrell without Baelish present?” Jon asked skeptically, redirecting her attention.

“I think so.” Sansa looked amongst the three men around her. “Baelish will be attending to business, he can’t stand Mace—who in all fairness is intolerable—and Grandmother Olenna can’t stand Baelish.” Sansa rolled her eyes. “While Littlefinger isn’t foolish enough to underestimate _her_ , he sees no problem in leaving me with the nattering flock of hens who embroider roses onto pillows while The Queen of Thorns plots and schemes in her padded chaise.”

“Because Littlefinger thinks you’re one of the hens,” Jon smiled to himself. “as opposed to one of the plotters and schemers.”

“Because I had much practice being a stupid girl,” Sansa smiled back. “and I’m good at pretending I am still.”

“We want you to get even closer to Lady Olenna.” Jeor sat forward, his eyes deeply imploring. “Reveal some of your innermost pain at losing your family to her and observe her reactions. See past her ornery temperament to where her true loyalty lies.”

“Her true loyalty lies with her family,” Sansa stated firmly. “and her family only.”

“Her family is now aligned with the Lannisters.” Tormund disagreed. “And those Lannister fuckers are using the new funds her family pledged so The White Guard can kick us in the balls.”

“Pieces on a chessboard.” Sansa looked down to her hands. “Some openly stand up for what is right and get killed at a peaceful demonstration, or die in a car that’s brakes have been cut.” She looked back up to Mormont with slightly watery eyes. “Others bide their time and move their pieces around until they have checkmate. And they’ve won the game.”

“So, she has no real love for the Lannisters?” Jon questioned, his hand brushing her shoulder as he sat down next to her.

“House Tyrell wants a daughter who is Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. So Olenna pledges Tyrell funds to help The Crown’s cost of rooting out every insurgent in Westeros. And Margaery was the lead in all the school plays, so she can surely pretend to be utterly devoted to Joffrey.” Sansa smirked, laughing under her breath. “But if Winterfell were still in my hands, I’d be willing to bet it that neither woman can stand a single lion she sees.”

“Good.” Tormund piped up.

Sansa narrows her eyes. “Good for us?”

“The Black Night has a little bird in King’s Landing that tells us even once Margaery becomes queen, The Roses may be susceptible to changing sides, feeding us information from the inside.” Mormont stares at her unblinkingly. “If they can be swayed, we need to know.”

Sansa couldn’t believe her ears, her mouth opened and closed a few times. “You want me to ask Lady Tyrell to double cross a reign that includes her granddaughter?”

“No.” Jon stated, purposely not looking at her. “We want you to find out if she’d do anything for her granddaughter.”

“We know things about Joffrey’s depraved…… _inclinations_ , that few others do.” Mormont continued carefully. “We just want to know if once The Queen of Thorns finds out about those inclinations—and how they’ve been directed at someone she loves—if her devotion to family is strong enough she would then be in the right state of mind for us to approach.”

“Joffrey’s always been a vile little bastard, they surely know that.” She spoke quietly, disbelievingly. “But you seem to be speaking of something more than when he would call me names or grab me too harshly.”

Mormont looked down to his desk. “We are.”

“You’re asking me to determine if Olenna’s the type who would seek vengeance, even against the most powerful who’d hurt her family……….so that we can step back and allow her family to be hurt……..” her mouth felt dry and she blinked rapidly. “………all so we can step in after it’s done to _offer her that vengeance_?”

Jon frowned sadly. “We are.”

“Margaery’s _my friend_.” Sansa blanched, then harshly grabbed Jon by the hand. “You just want to turn a blind eye and let bad things happen to her, all to see if that can’t get you a new ally?”

“Imploring to common decency and pointing out the devastating flaws both in King Joffrey _and_ his reign, thus far haven’t gotten us the allies we need.” Mormont was apologetic, but determined. “It might be time to allow personal grievances to fester and use them to our advantage.”

“Your friend and her family got themselves into this.” Jon rasped, looking up at her resolutely. “It’s a game—just like you said. Sometimes you allow someone to make a wrong move, so you can see what your right move is going to be.”

“And if it had still been me?” She dropped his hand, her voice weak and wavering. “If Joffrey hadn’t spit me out like spoiled milk at the first sign my family and I wouldn’t worship the ground his cruel, petulant, spiteful feet walked on?”

“We’re a resistance.” Jon lowered his head. “We ask ‘ _what ifs?_ ’ about the future—not the past. If we asked them about the past, we’d all go crazy.”

“Margaery Tyrell is no trembling little waif needing to be rescued by strangers.” Tormund snorted. “She and her family can fight back better than most. We’d just be offering them the tools to do it.”

Sansa’s chair scratched loudly against the floor as she angrily stood and stalked toward the doorway.

“Can we count on your scouting information,” Jeor called out, stopping her before she crossed the threshold. “Lady _Stone?_ ”

“I don’t like what you ask of me, and all that it implies,” she did not turn back to face them. “but I’ll never deny something The Black Night asks of me.”

 

She stormed out of the room and stopped momentarily to grab her coat by the front door. As she reached for the hook holding it, a hand grasped hers.

“Sansa.” Jon whispered, his face remorseful.

She tried to pull her hand away, but he held firm. “Let me go.”

He quickly released her and stepped back. She turned from him without another word and left Black Castle. He waited a few moments, took several deep breaths and followed after her, catching up with her where the crumbling stone path of the once-great manor met the overgrown brush that kept most from knowing it wasn’t abandoned.

“Sansa.” He called to her, speaking again when she turned to him. “Even if the Lannisters haven’t officially declared, everyone in The North knows we’re at war. And when you see that your people are in danger…….you do whatever you have to in order to protect them, even horrible things.”

She chuckled ruefully. “I’m sure Cersei Lannister and her White Guard feel the same way.”

“I love you.” His voice cracked, and when she looked into his eyes they shined with unshed tears. “If the world were right again, I’d never ask painful things of you.” He looked to the ground and she saw a tear fall to the stones below. “But the fucking irony might be we can’t make the world right again unless we ask those things of you.”

“Yeah.” She sighed heavily in resignation, glancing to the sky before closing her eyes. “Arya still is Braavos?”

Jon looked up, smiling slightly. “The same little bird who told us his suspicions of the Tyrells has been spending some time in Essos as of late. She hasn’t been found…….but those who know to look for Arya Stark can see that she’s made her mark on the city.”

“More direwolves spray-painted onto buildings in the city?” She grinned wide and proud.

He winked at her. “The latest one on the wall of The Iron Bank.”

“Arya won’t be found unless she wants to be.” Sansa’s voice tinged with sadness. “And she’ll only want to be found by another Stark.”

“The sooner the tide is turned in this war.” Jon opened his arms. “The sooner we get to her.”

“We?” She quirked an eyebrow.

“Yeah.” He moved before her and kissed that brow. “WE.”

She took his hand in hers and her lips brushed his knuckles. “I’ll see you when I return.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just noticed as I posted this chapter that the replies I made to the previous comments somehow did not get posted, and I'm almost positive it was my error. I will remedy that as soon as I can--my commenters are precious to me and I don't want them to feel they've been ignored! Thanks!


	3. New Dawn in the Mountains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa returns to The Vale after Joffrey's death, and finds that nothing will ever be the same.

Sansa felt as though she were in a nightmare, happy to be out of the snake-pit of King’s Landing after the horrors she had witnessed over the past few days, but still overcome with fear and anxiety of what would come next. She looked past the lush furnishings of the drawing room in The Eyrie and out the large picture window onto the mountainous landscape of The Vale, happy to catch the snow falling, but wishing it were another Snow altogether that she could see.

“It’s ridiculous, dear girl.” Lysa Arryn clucked in her chair across the drawing room from where Sansa sat in a settee. “That anyone would believe you have the animosity, or the wherewithal, or especially the cunning, to be a part of this.”

“I’m sure they don’t actually believe it, Lysa, darling.” Baelish appeared behind Sansa and she barely kept from flinching at his touch on her shoulder. “Anyone with an ounce of intelligence knows our little Sansa doesn’t have it in her to be part of a conspiracy so vile. The Lannisters have only themselves to blame if their ill-treatment of Lord Tyrion led to him poisoning the King.”

“He’s a funny-looking little man!” Robin spoke up from the floor, playing with a Pentoshi porcelain figurine of a falcon. “I would’ve liked to have seen him taken away by the guards, his face all beaten up and bleeding!”

“They didn’t _beat_ Tyrion, Robin! The White Guard took him and Ser Jaime wouldn’t allow something so unjust to happen to his own _brother._ ” Sansa uttered through clenched teeth, looking up from the folded hands in her lap to see Lysa staring at her angrily and Robin’s face screwing up to cry. “But…….you’re right, Robin,” Sansa smiled and winked at her cousin, knowing the right words to keep the tantrum at bay. “it would have been a great thing to see.”

“The Lannisters made a meal of her family, but their appetites for cruelty still aren’t sated…..and now they’ll come for the scraps.” Baelish bent and kissed the side of Sansa’s head, his thin, wormy lips against her skin making her insides curl in disgust. “But we won’t let them have our girl, will we?”

He nodded encouragingly to Lysa, and to Robin, who sat on the expensive-rugged floor, now smashing the figurine Sansa had gone out of her way to purchase for him in King’s Landing into smithereens.

“Of course, we won’t.” Lysa drew in a shaky breath and gave a small smile. “Poor, poor, dear girl. So unlucky. She doesn’t have a mother who loves her like you do, sweet Robin.” She looked to her son on the floor. “We must help her, like Uncle Petyr says.”

“Yes, Uncle Petyr!” Robin rose from the floor and ran to Petyr, practically knocking him over. “We’ll get those Lannisters!”

“Now, now, not outright rebellion, Lord Arryn.” Petyr chuckled, clutching Robin and patting him on the back. “But the time for rolling over and allowing others to stomp across our land has passed, wouldn’t you say?” He pulled Robin back and looked him in the eye. “The Vale of Arryn has stood proud for thousands of years. We mustn’t be weak.”

“I’m not weak!” Robin shouted.

“Of course, you’re not. Strong and wise—just like your father.” Littlefinger patted his cheek proudly, then turned to Lysa and moved a hand back to Sansa’s shoulder. “Of course, this means that The Eyrie—and to a wider extent, The Vale—needs to close ranks. Seal off the gates to all but our knights, until such a time our next move can be implemented.”

Lysa rose from her chair and came before Sansa, who stood for her aunt to pull her close. “How fortunate that you were allowed to come back to us, even with the foolish rumors about your complacency swirling about the capitol. We’re with you, child.” Of course, Sansa felt Lysa’s fingers clench so tightly on her upper arms she would surely have bruises. “Whatever is needed.”

“I won’t let them get you, Sansa!” Robin bounced on his feet in frenetic energy. “I’ll order the mountain crumbled with everyone buried and suffocating in the rubble below, or I’ll chop all of them up into bloody pieces before I let anyone have you!”

Sansa smiled dishonestly, her stomach lurching at his graphic viciousness, and hugged her cousin. “That’s lovely. You’re truly kind to me, my lord.” She looked up to her aunt, her cheek still on top of Robin’s head. “My lady, I’m truly indebted to you for all you have done for me.”

Sansa heard the door open and Lord Yohn Royce’s voice sound into the room. “My ladies. My lord. Lord Baelish.”

Sansa pulled back and gave Robin one last smile before turning to smile at Lord Royce. Lysa held out her hand for her son. “Come my sweet boy. My poor, dear niece. Let’s allow the men to talk.”

“Actually, Lysa, my love.” Baelish held up his hand. “Part of what Lord Royce and I must discuss concerns dear Sansa.”

Lysa smiled tightly, her eyes shooting fire at Sansa. “Of course, my love.” She took Robin’s hand and they left the room.

“Lord Royce.” Baelish stood next to Sansa, arm wrapping around her shoulders. “Order that ALL gates of The Eyrie and other vital parts of The Vale be closed and no man or woman shall pass without my expressed permission.”

Royce looked tellingly at Sansa. “The men and women who work the gates will want that order to come from Lord Arryn.”

“It _does_ come from Lord Arryn. He just told me to order it.” Baelish rested his hand on Sansa’s upper arm and thumbed back and forth over it so long she could feel the friction-heat through the thin fabric of her silk shirt. “He was most keen to do all he could to protect his dear cousin from any harm. Wasn’t he, Sansa?”

Sansa gulped. “He was, my lord.” She looked directly at Royce. “Robin was most kind in wanting to protect me.”

Baelish left Sansa’s side and walked to the desk in the corner. “The last remaining child of the _true_ Warden of the North and heiress to Winterfell is being viewed as a threat to the Lannisters. We might stand aside and let The White Guard decimate _an illegal resistance_ ……but to allow them to come after an innocent young woman who hasn’t the physical or mental means to fight back?” Baelish smiled his smile that always made Sansa want to vomit and he shook his head. “No. We can’t allow that.”

“I agree, Lord Baelish.” Royce looked to Sansa’s face. Her true, terrified expression shown only to him and hidden from Littlefinger by his spot at the desk behind her. “The Vale’s mountainous fortifications have stood against invaders for a millennium.”

“I’ve also corresponded with my brother-in-law, Lord Edmure.” Baelish lifted a letter from the desk. “He and I have made plans to use joint Vale-Riverlands forces to take up residence along their border with The Westerlands and along The Neck…….no longer allowing White Guards access to The North. With the Iron Islands between The Westerlands and The Flint Cliffs…” Baelish’s whispering, raspy voice more frightening than all of Joffrey’s screaming taunts. “….the Lannisters will be shut off from the province they’ve tortured and tormented for so long.”

“My uncle has already pledged his troops?” Sansa turned to the desk in disbelief of Baelish’s underhandedness. “You would’ve had to correspond with him days before we even left for Joffrey’s wedding.”

Baelish handed her the paper. “Weeks, actually.”

“ _Lord Baelish_.” Royce moved forward to stand beside Sansa and also looked to the letter in her hand. “I feel I must warn you, you’re teetering very close to treason.” He looked closer to seal on the paper. “And you used the Arryn seal!”

“I assure you, all I’ve done was fully ordered by Lord Arryn.” Sansa barely stopped herself from laughing at what she was positive was a complete lie. “And preparing for the inevitable is not _treason_ , Royce. We all knew this was coming. We’ve let the Lannister White Guard roll over our honored lands for too long.” Baelish moved back around the desk and took Sansa’s hand. “Even loyalists to The Crown have strong beliefs that the Stark deaths were suspicious at the least, outright murder at the most. Are we prepared _for Sansa_ to be their next casualty, Lord Royce?”

“Of course not. But are we prepared for the innocent lives that could be lost because of impudence? Especially before we could even broach diplomatic—“

“The White Guard _will_ come for Sansa once Tyrion has been found guilty and executed, as Cersei’s rage and bloodlust over her firstborn’s death will not be satisfied by just her brother’s head.” Baelish lifted Sansa’s hand to his lips. “And when The White Guard encroaches first—The Vale, The Riverlands and what’s left of The North will declare for the last scion of House Stark.”

Sansa’s whole face drained of blood. “Me?” She croaked out.

“After that, Stark loyalists and The Black Night will root out both the Boltons and the cut-off White Guards left in the province,” when Littlefinger let go of her hand to move back behind the desk, Sansa let it fall like a dead weight back to her side. “Then half of Westeros will be out of Lannister control. _More_ than half, as Dorne has never had any love for The Lions and given any chance will stand opposed to them.”

“Me?” Sansa croaked out again, hoping her own voice would cut through the ringing in her ears.

“The North Remembers.” Baelish smiled vilely, and the only thing Sansa knew in that moment was she wanted to smash in his face for uttering those sacred words. “And when they do, we’ll have half of the kingdom in our hands.”

Sansa felt a soft tug on her pencil skirt and turned to Lord Royce beside her, nodding his head in knowing sympathy. He then looked to Baelish.

“We in the northern part of the kingdom have always been different than those southerners.” Royce reached over the desk to hand the letter back to Baelish. “It’s only right that one of our own should lead us.” He bowed his head to Sansa. “It will be an honor to stand behind you, Lady Sansa.”

“Thank you, Lord Royce.” Sansa whispered hoarsely, infinitesimally shaking her head. She pointed to the bar cart in front of the picture window. “It’s a lot to take in, do you mind--?”

“Of course not, my dear.” Baelish chuckled, gesturing for her to take a glass. “A good stiff spirit will set you in the _right spirit_.”

Sansa walked to the bar cart and with trembling hands, poured herself a near half-glass of a brown liquid she couldn’t name. She took a shaky breath before downing a gulp, not even flinching at the burn sliding down her throat. She stayed by the cart, staring out the windows to the mountains laid before her.

“Well, if we’re going to be closing the gates,” Royce began. “It’s a good thing I was finally able to secure the coach you had ask me to acquire for Lord Arryn’s physical training.”

“Yes.” Baelish clapped his hands loudly from behind Sansa. “We can’t allow Robin to attend boarding school as a sickly, coddled boy.”

“This man is a fine trainer of strength, wrestling, archery, fencing, and hunting. His father has taught the Royces for decades, and he has since taken over his father’s profession.”

“And he can be trusted to adhere to the new Northern cause?”

Royce laughed heartily. “He has no love for The White Guard, I can assure you.”

“Excellent!” Baelish guffawed loudly in return. “Bring him in.”

Sansa heard the door open and shut again behind where she was still dazedly looking out the window.

“Lord Baelish,” Royce began. “Allow me to introduce Jon Wildling.”

Sansa’s body froze immediately except for her hand squeezing around the tumbler, which would have surely shattered in her grasp had it not been so well-made. She did not dare turn.

“Milord.” It was definitely Jon’s voice. “Iz a ‘onor to be un’er your employ.” Accent played up, of course. No doubt to hide that the man it belonged to had received a scholarship to all the most prestigious boy’s boarding schools north of Riverrun.

“You’ll report to the Master-at-Arms, and when he’s not available—then only to Lord Royce or myself.” Baelish began conspiratorially. “I’ll have a talk with my wife, the former Lady Arryn, and instruct her as such. She gives no orders to you. For too long, Robin’s physical training has gone fallow under her watch, and he’s soft because of it. If we’re to remedy that, we can’t have Lord Arryn disobeying you and then running to his mother whenever you ask something of him he doesn’t like.”

“I delt wit dif’cult chil’ren ’fore, milord.” Jon rasped, chuckling. “ ‘e won’t cauz me no trouble.”

“Good.” Petyr began to speak lowly, and Sansa finally turned to see Baelish’s body obscuring Jon’s head where he leaned in to Jon’s ear. “Robin’s to be _the only_ of the wards here you have _any_ contact with, understood? Neither Lord Royce’s children nor Lady Sansa will have cause to be in your training. You’re to take up _none_ of their time.”

Baelish stood upright and Jon’s gaze finally caught hers, just momentarily, before he nodded. “ O’corz, Milord. I sure a fine lady like miz Stark haz better things ta do ‘en be ‘round da likez a me.”

“Good!” Petyr chuckled and slapped him on the back. “Now, The Eyrie will be closed to all outgoing and incoming traffic.” Baelish continued, moving back to the desk. “I’m sorry if that’s a hardship to you.”

“I sure e’en da Eyrie’s servants quar’ers are nicer dan what I get els’where, milord.”

 

 

Jon took a turn at the corner, then at another hallway, then doubled back, then waited a full minute before turning back _again_. He looked for the third door, third hallway, third floor—offices of the household staff. Third hour after midnight, at the thirty-minute mark, still in the dark hours before dawn. He knocked three times. He heard the knob turn and the door opened just a fraction. He let out a long, relieved exhale when he opened it fully to see her standing in her nightgown next to a table with a single candle on it.

Sansa took a nervous breath and gestured to the flame. “I was afraid someone would see if I turned on the light.”

He leaned back against the closed door. “You are just the best thing I’ve seen in quite a while.”

“JON!” She gasped, rushing to his arms.

He lifted her off the floor and simply held her for long moments, feeling the pounding off her heart in her chest clutched so tightly against his. He put her back down and turned his head to kiss her heatedly, his tongue slipping into her mouth and sliding along hers for longer than their breaths could stand—but still not long enough to quench their long-denied thirst for each other. One hand grasped her waist, bunching the satin fabric of her nightgown, and the other ran up her back to tangle in her loose locks. He finally pulled back to see porcelain skin and azure eyes aglow in the light of the candle, and playfully tugged a copper strand of hair where it lay over her shoulder.

“It’s been so long since I’ve seen your real hair color.” He chuckled, fingertips tenderly grazing along her jaw. “Are you alright?”

She nodded silently, then let out a small sob and shook her head. “He wants to use me to take over half of Westeros!” Tears fell unimpeded down her cheeks. “He was in on Joffrey’s murder!”

Jon’s eyes widened in shock. “With Tyrion?”

Sansa’s eyes narrowed in return, shaking her head. “No, of course not. Tyrion didn’t have anything to do with it.”

“How do you know that?”

“I just do.”

Jon bit his lip, shrugging. “Well, even though we’re being blamed for it along with Tyrion, neither did The Black Night.”

“I know that.” She told him firmly. “You’d never be so stupid as to do something that would bring White Guards crushing down even further on The North.” Sansa chuckled mirthlessly. “Cersei was just so very quick to believe that Tyrion would collude with The Resistance. She hates both him and us. If she hadn’t lost her _beautiful,_ _beloved boy_ in the matter, it couldn’t have worked out better for her.”

“You have any idea who did, then?”

“I know Baelish did.” She looked to the ceiling. “Or, at least now I do.”

“We’ve had eyes and ears on Baelish for a while.” Jon reluctantly let go of her completely. “We knew after-the-fact about the letters he sent your Uncle Edmure, and we got our hands on some of them.” He sat in a nearby chair and ran a hand over his face. “Your mother was the only one of the Tully lot to have a wit to them. Littlefinger is manipulating both Edmure and Lysa to come to your aid and he’s only going to get you killed in the process.”

She sat on his lap. “It’s strange how a girl everyone believes to be such a stupid, tittering little dove can be viewed either as such a threat or such an advantage.”

“After Joffrey’s death, we knew you might be in danger of The White Guard coming for you, and knew even more so you’d be unable to get away to come to us.” He looked to her with love and desire shining on his face. “So, I begged Mormont to let me come to you. And remembering what you’d told me about Yohn Royce’s loyalty, asked him to get me into The Eyrie.”

“You wanted to see if Olenna Tyrell could be approached to help us…..” Sansa put her head on his shoulder. “well, she certainly didn’t do _me_ any favors.”

Jon gently tugged her chin back up to him. “How do you mean?”

“You wanted me to observe and see what she might be capable of…..” Sansa shrugged, then quirked her eyebrow. “I observed.”

“You mean……” Jon’s mouth dropped. “Olenna Tyrell?”

“Of course.”

“You didn’t tell her…?”

“Of course not.” Sansa rolled her eyes. “But The Queen of Thorns isn’t stupid, and neither am I.”

He lightly cupped her cheek. “Sansa, I never thought you were stupid.”

“I know when someone is willing to do anything to keep their most beloved safe. I can’t believe I ever really thought Olenna was going to let Margaery marry _that beast_.” Sansa spat her last words and stood up, playing with her hair. “I saw the look on Olenna’s—and even to some extent, Margaery’s—face whenever they’d interact with Joffrey. I doubt Margaery was in on it, but she’ll find Tommen much more agreeable and much more pliable to her maneuverings.”

“Tommen? He’s a boy.”

“The Lannisters still need Tyrell funds in order to offset the cost of oppressing all Westerosi citizens,” Sansa shrugged. “The Lions won’t let The Golden Roses go when all they have to do to keep them is overlook the sordidness of a child marry a grown woman.”

Jon let out amazed scoff. “No one’s even looking at the Tyrells.”

“Olenna and Baelish.” Sansa nodded, sitting in Jon’s lap again and slipping a soft hand underneath his shirt to touch the bare skin above his heart. “Olenna, so she and Margaery can easily manipulate Tommen. Baelish, so he can easily manipulate me.”

“He’s going to declare for you?” Jon kissed her neck, painfully already aware of the answer. “Along with The Riverlands, and the rest of The North?”

“I don’t suppose it matters that I’ve never _asked_ anyone to declare for me?” She let out a long, despairing breath. “That now all I want is to find Bran, go to Arya in Braavos and have you by my side?”

Jon took her face in his hands. “Sansa, wherever you might go, you’ll _never_ be safe as long as this many players are trying to move you to their advantage in the game of power they’re playing.”

“And what am I supposed to do about it?” She slid her fingers around his wrists. “Or Tommen? He doesn’t want to rule any more than I do—to be pawns for other people to use in their game.”

“I don’t know about Tommen, but I honestly think there would be no one better to rule than _you_. The problem is there are just too many manipulators girding themselves for the battle to achieve power here in Westeros for any _true_ leader to come out into the light, someone who would think of others before themsel—“ Jon paused in mid-thought and chuckled lowly, rubbing his chin as an idea came to his mind. “Sansa……if you truly don’t wish to rule……..?”

“I don’t.”

He smiled to himself, looking away slightly. “The plotters in Westeros would never _see her coming_ ……”

“Jon?” Sansa chuckled, pulling his gaze back to her with light fingers on his jaw. “Feel like letting me in on the conversation?”

“The many Westerosi playing the game to win The Iron Throne will put their weight behind one pawn or another—positive that they hold the real power themselves. Those manipulators will knock each other off one-by-one, and then _a leader_ —the first leader in hundreds of years _truly worthy_ of the title—will remove those few remaining manipulators from the equation completely,” he tucked a strand of hair behind Sansa’s ear. “with help from one of the pawns.”

“And if fairytales were true, I’d want to fly around on a dragon.” Sansa laughed, running a hand through his curls. “But I doubt a leader like that exists in reality.”

“Dragons! That’s especially funny considering her family’s crest.” He slapped his hand on his leg in amusement and brought his forehead to hers. “Sansa, the little bird we’ve talked about—“

“Varys.” It was a statement, not a question.

Jon jerked his head back at the name falling from her lips and blinked rapidly, his mouth agape.

She snorted at his dumbfounded look, her chest heaving with laughter, before calming again. “You asked me to observe, I observed.” She kissed him lightly on the lips. “And I told you, I’m not stupid.”

“If anyone ever tries again to say you are, I’ll coldcock them in the jaw.” He laughed as well, sobering before continuing. “Varys has spent some time in Essos, and he’s brought someone back into the fold that Ser Jeor thought he’d never hear of again.” He paused at her quirked eyebrow. “Sansa, did you ever know that Lord Commander Mormont has a son?”

 

 


	4. Hope of All Hopes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Littlefinger schemes, Sansa waits. For several prayers to be answered.
> 
> Jon answers more than one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bulk of the story happens months after chapter 3, deep into Baelish/Sansa's forces taking on The White Guard.

She let out four short exhales against his ear, followed by one long inhale, and then a whisper of his name fell from her lips. “ _Jon_.”

Her arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders, hands and fingernails sliding up and down their blades. And her legs wrapped around him with her knees close to his armpits and heels in the small of his back, thighs clenching against his waist. “ _Jon_.”

He held her up against the stone wall of the laundry closet and drove into her tight, sweet slickness a little harder than he normally would have—but these were not normal times, and _time_ was of the essence. Anyway, she didn’t seem to mind. “Fuck, Sansa. It feels so good to be inside you.”

“I can’t bear this.” She moaned into his ear.

“What?” He pulled back, looking over what he could see of her body, then stared into her eyes. “Tell me what I did. I’m sorry, whatever it was.”

She smiled and brought a soft hand to his cheek. “I can’t bear not having you inside me whenever either of us want. I can’t bear pretending I don’t live to speak your name, or have my name spoken by you. I can’t bear the thought that one day, I’ll be taken away. Or Jon Wildling will be sent back to where he came from and I’ll be left here.” Her breath hitched as he rubbed his whole palm over her breast and began thrusting into her again. “I can’t bear hiding from the whole world that I’m really yours.”

He dropped his forehead to hers. “I’m yours too, Sansa.”

She slinked her hands down to the cheeks of his firm ass and squeezed, pulling him deeper into her. “We’re running out of time.”

“We’ll find a way.” He told her breathlessly. “Ser Jeor and his son, Jorah, are now working together completely. The woman….the Targaryen? She’s working with The Black Night to sow discord in Westeros and undermine the Lannister reign. She’s united so many in Essos, we truly believe she can do it here. And Varys….” Jon took a deep breath and wiped his sweaty brow. “Varys has his ‘ _little birds_ ’ in Essos as well. He has all in Braavos on the lookout for Arya. She’ll be found, I know she will.”

Sansa’s head dropped back to the stone wall and she chuckled lengthily. “I don’t fault you for the miscommunication, but I meant we’re running out of time until I have to be back in my room.”

“Oh….well,” he paused in his movements and chuckled lowly too. “don’t I feel like an idiot.”

She shook her head playfully. “No……we’re also running out of time in the more philosophical sense,” she pat him on the ass and leaned in to bite his lower lip. “but when I take your perfect ass in my hands and pull you further into my cunt…..I mean hurry up fucking me, I want us both to come before I have to leave you.”

“Yes, milady,” Jon took on his fake accent and hitched her higher on his hips, bouncing her along the length of his cock. “n’ye thing else I can do for ya, miz Stark?”

“Yes.” She gasped and nodded seriously, a shimmer of tears in her eyes. “Love me.”

He stopped again and placed her hand on the sweaty skin over his heart. “I do, Sansa.” The beat of it was fast and hard, and matched the beat of hers. “More than I ever dreamed I could love anyone.”

 

 

Sansa was in the library, curled up in an overstuffed armchair by the roaring stone fireplace, reading a book on Daena the Defiant—who was shackled to a man she didn’t want and locked away so he could ensure she remained pure (irony is not dead)—when Baelish entered. He quickly walked to the corner were Lysa sat before an easel with a brush in her hand.

Standing behind her, he kissed her cheek and surveyed the work on the canvas. “Looks lovely, my darling.”

Sansa chuckled to herself. All Lysa ever painted were landscapes of the mountains standing tall outside the window. All she ever painted were large gray triangles tipped with white. Canvas after canvas. And with each one, she expected everyone to fawn all over her artistic talent.

“Sansa, dear?” Baelish looked to her and nodded encouragingly. “Don’t you think it’s lovely?”

Sansa craned her neck to view the easel and gave a wide, fake smile. “Beautiful. How lucky the mountains are to have you paint them!”

“Thank you!” Lysa beamed and clutched her hand in front of her chest. “I do say it’s only fitting that The Vale is so gloriously captured in paint by the woman who owns them.”

“Lysa, darling.” Baelish rested his hand on her shoulder. “I’m afraid we’ll have to tell Robin that his strength training has been suspended for the time being.”

Sansa’s eyes halted on a word in the middle of the page she was reading.

_Why? What happened?_

“Oh dear.” Lysa tutted, touching a brush to the canvas. “That’s unfortunate. Robin was really enjoying it.”

“Yes. But I’ve given permission for the coach to have a short furlough to his home.” Petyr looked down to his wife. “Apparently, a family emergency.”

_Jon was gone. Without telling her. An emergency._

After she became a Black Sister, she’d sworn she would never be helpless, to have so much depending on another person. But she realized in that moment, she had failed. Because in that moment, everything in her life centered on him. And he wasn’t there.

“Are we letting people down the mountain now?” Sansa asked with a steadier voice than she thought possible, not looking up from her book.

“We received an official telegraph from a hospital asking for his return. His family needed him.” Baelish waved his hand dismissively. “Besides…….The Vale, Riverlands, and North are now fortified with our troops. We’re in a better position now than we’ve ever been.”

Sansa took a deep breath, steeling herself. “Would I be allowed to leave?” She shrugged nonchalantly. “With a chaperone, of course.”

“We couldn’t take the chance.” Baelish smiled nauseatingly and shook his head. “You, my dear, are worth more than a million Coach Wildings.”

 

 

“We have them on the defensive now.” Baelish grinned around his mouth-full of eggs, practically patting himself on the back. “In the four months since Cersei sent her goons _after_ you and we declared _for_ you, the joint Vale-Riverlands forces have held the line along The Westerlands border, and The White Guard who tried to invade from King’s Landing found themselves trapped between that front and The Mountains of the Moon, their troops and tanks getting hung up in the seasonal rain, sleet and mud around the wetlands of God’s Eye and Isle of Faces lake. All troop and supply reinforcements that tried to reach them met more of the same. All Lannister forces were halted long before they ever reached Riverrun.”

“Such a success.” Lysa praised across the table from him, smiling worshipfully. Even though Littlefinger wasn’t listening.

He continued as if she’d never spoken. “It’s the exact mistake Aegon the First made hundreds of years ago when he tried to invade the northern part of the kingdom—he didn’t take the harsh season into account and how those he was trying to conquer were more adept to deal with it. Aegon lost half of his army……..we’re looking at _more_ than half the Lannister forces being lost!”

Sansa sat at the dining table eating breakfast with Littlefinger to her side and Aunt Lysa and Robin across from her. She sighed and cut her whitefish up into tiny pieces so it looked as though she were eating more than her nervous stomach would allow. “How wonderful.”

“Sansa,” he reached to still her hand sawing back and forth on her plate. “your people’s lives are being improved. The Boltons are gone, rationing has stopped, travel between regions has increased with White Guard checkpoints being dismantled. Finally, Northern citizens have something to hope for—and it’s you.”

She took a sip of her tea. “Except I didn’t have anything to do with it.”

“You’re still too young.” Aunt Lysa replied, not looking at Sansa as she spread jam on her toast. “And a girl. Young girls have things done for them all the time by people who know better.”

Sansa glared at her aunt and thought, ‘ _I’m sure YOU have, but I’m not you and never want to be you.’_

“Westeros is a peninsula, is it not?” Sansa looked to Baelish mockingly. “What’s stopping the Lannisters from reaching The North by boat?”

“Iron Islands on the western front,” Baelish waved his hand at her dismissively. “Stannis Baratheon’s and Dorne’s fleets on the eastern.”

Shock ran through Sansa’s body and her teacup dropped to its saucer with a clatter. “I’ve yet to hear of that.”

“Nothing to hear, dear girl.” He smiled and shook his head. “Stannis has been stewing in his own resentment ever since King Robert’s death and Dorne has hated The Lions for generations. Neither have declared for you, of course…….but they’ve kept the Lannister fleet either on the run, or stuck in the harbor. And I’ve contracted with the smuggler organization—Brotherhood Without Banners—to keep the northern half of the kingdom well-supplied while the Lannisters are blockaded at every turn.”

“So,” Sansa pushed her plate away from her. “the best allies we have are bad weather, the enemies of our enemies, and smugglers who will double cross us the first time we don’t meet any price they feel like charging us.”

“ _Well_ , of all the…….” Aunt Lysa fumed, shaking her head furiously and pointing her finger at Sansa. “After all we’ve done for you! You should be grateful, instead of acting like a selfish, petulant child!”

“Now, Lysa.” Baelish tried to soothe her.

“She’d be dead ten times over if it weren’t for us!” Lysa shouted at him and Sansa both. “We should have left her to die in King’s Landing!”

“But we’ve all just said it ourselves,” Littlefinger held up his hands placatingly. “Everything will be heaped onto Sansa—praise if we succeed, criticism if we fail.” He smiled over at Sansa proudly. “It’s only right she should be looking ahead to our next challenges, rather than rest solely on our past achievements. We might make a leader of her yet.”

She smiled back slightly, then spoke softly. “Any word on Tyrion?”

“You’ll stop asking after that _little beast of a man_ ,” Lysa sighed heavily, clanking her teaspoon against its cup. “unless you want people to believe you actually _did_ conspire with him to kill the king.”

“It would be impossible to conspire with Tyrion to kill the king,” Sansa sighed. “Because I can’t believe he actually did it.”

Baelish put his knife and fork on the table with a measured calmness. “How do you mean?”

_FIVE MONTHS EARLIER_

_Sansa pinned her hat to her hair and put her hand in Baelish’s as he helped her off the luxury train car. Her red patent high heels had barely touched the fixed concrete of King’s Landing station before she saw the stag banners of House Baratheon standing off to the side of the platform._

_“My lord. My lady.” They heard a distant voice speak._

_Sansa looked over the crowd to see who the voice belonged to, then when the crowd parted she realized she should have been looking closer to the ground._

_“Lord Tyrion.” Sansa’s painted-red lips quirked in a genuine smile and she put her foot behind her to give a curtsy. “How pleasant to see you in such good health.”_

_Littlefinger looked at the dwarf and the few men holding banners, then took a breath that hissed through his front teeth loud enough that it could be heard, even over the din of a busy train depot. “We would’ve thought a higher-ranked welcoming party could be mustered to welcome the representative of a Great House.”_

_“Really?” Sansa chuckled, looking at Baelish with a raised brow. “I never had a doubt we’d be greeted with such a small party.” She turned again to Tyrion with a smile. “Lord Tyrion is actually a greater honor than I’d anticipated.”_

_“Lady Sansa,” Tyrion took her hand in his and kissed it lightly. “I see that time away from our glorious capitol and my beloved nephew has done nothing to lessen your beauty or your grace.”_

_Sansa took in his three-piece suit and horn-rimmed spectacles perched on the bridge of his nose. “New glasses?”_

_He pushed them further up with his index finger. “Yes, I’m afraid all the years of reading until the deep hours of the night have finally taken their toll on my vision.”_

_Sansa winked. “Still trying to convince people you spend your nights reading?”_

_Baelish chuckled under his breath beside them and Tyrion brought a hand to his chest in mock-outrage. “Lady Stark! I’ll have you know I am a dedicated, studious and pious man of high position within my darling nephew’s reign.”_

_He gestured for them to move forward down the platform, maneuvering himself to where Sansa was at his side on the narrow causeway with Littlefinger following behind them._

_“Of course, I must be thinking of someone else.” She looked down at him and shrugged. “After all, it’s so easy to confuse you with others.”_

_“Oh, why couldn’t Joffrey have held onto you?” Tyrion looked ahead, smiling to himself. “Worked out better for you, of course. But Margaery Tyrell is nowhere near as much fun for me.”_

“It’s just—he’s not stupid.” Sansa looked to Baelish and sipped her now-cold tea. “He knows more than half his family despise him and would pounce on any opportunity to legitimately be rid of him. He’d never put himself in the position to be accused. And if he had planned it……he would have had an escape all set.”

“He DID escape!” Lysa seethed, putting Robin’s napkin back in his lap after he threw it on the ground. “Gods! Sometimes listening to you yammer on…………”

“Weeks after the wedding.” She replied calmly. “Any time during which Cersei could’ve had him murdered in his cell while he slept. She’s done it before to greater than her reviled brother.”

Littlefinger raised his brow. “Last I’ve heard Tyrion has been spotted in Meereen—a place with no extradition to Westeros, and he’s unlikely to make a _triumphant_ return.”

Sansa looked to her hands in her lap. “You underestimate what he can achieve. Everyone does.”

“We’ll never know who did what,” Baelish flippantly declared, staring at a portfolio beside his plate. “All we know for certain is that _you did not._ ”

The dining room door opened. “My lords, My ladies.” The footman bowed. “A Jon Wilding has asked for an audience.”

Sansa’s heart leapt and her breath stopped in her lungs. She grasped onto the handle of her fork, simply to have something to hold onto.

Jon stepped into the room looking more glorious than anything she’d ever seen in her life. He still had his overcoat on and cap grasped in his hands. He gave small bow. “Milords. Miladies.”

“Ahh, Robin!” Petyr clapped once, smiling toward his stepson. “Your strength coach has returned.”

“Hi, Jon! Will we be able to fight with swords now?” Robin made the movements of a sword and swung his hand down _hard_ like a blade onto the table, causing the silverware and dishes to bounce, even spilling some orange juice on Sansa. But naturally, he remained un-scolded.

“Les try wit da smaller blades firs’, milord.” Jon chuckled before turning to Baelish. “I like ta thank you for le’in me go ‘ome to see my family, Lord Baelish. And for le’in me still keep me job, too.”

Baelish waved his hand and tossed his napkin on the table. “Think nothing of it. Family emergencies are what they are. When we received the telegram from the hospital, it would have been cruel to keep you from your loved ones. Tell me, how is your brother?”

Brother? Jon didn’t have a brother. It could mean a Black Brother. Or it could mean………

Sansa didn’t dare hope.

“Aww, ‘e fine, milord. Gave us a right scare for a minute, but ‘e fine now.” Jon nodded and clenched his wool cap harder in his hands. “Well, ‘e a climber, ya see. Reckon ‘e climbed o’er anything tall ‘nough to climb. But ‘e lost his footin’ and fell to the ground. Coudn’t move ‘is legs for a spell. Wadn’t awake none, either.”

The words swirled in Sansa’s mind.

A brother. A brother who climbed over everything. Sansa couldn’t count how many times her mother hold scolded Bran for climbing. And Bran didn’t lose use of his legs in a fall, but Jon couldn’t very well say that his brother had become paralyzed after a car accident—which also killed his parents, after Lannister cronies cut the car’s brakes. Lysa and Petyr weren’t stupid. Well, Petyr wasn’t anyway.

Jon nodded, looking at Sansa through downcast eyes. “But ‘e fine now, milord. ‘e back wit us, safe ‘n sound.”

“How fortunate.” Lysa announced without looking at Jon, turning her attention to Robin. “See, Robin? This is a warning for you _not to climb_. You could get hurt like your coach’s brother,” she smiled arrogantly. “and it would be even worse, because you are a lord, whereas he is only a common boy.”

“Well, Mr. Wildling.” Petyr spoke up, nodding to himself. “You can start again with Lord Arryn’s training?”

“Right ‘way.” Jon bowed his head and made to leave the room.

Sansa had to speak. Gone from her so long and now he brings news she’s waited and prayed for. She had to say something, so the joy she was rarely allowed to feel didn’t suffocate in her bones for not being let out. She had to speak.

“Mr……………? I’m sorry, I don’t remember your name.”

Jon turned from the door with wide eyes at the sound of her voice. “Wildling, milady. Jon Wildling.”

Sansa smiled genuinely for the first time while in the presence of the three other people in the room. “Mr. Wilding, allow me to add to the chorus of how happy I am your brother is safe.” She looked down to her folded hands on the tabletop for a moment. “I know more than most the fear one can feel from believing those you love are in peril. I will say a prayer thanking the gods for allowing him to come back to you.”

Petyr smiled and put his hand on top of Sansa’s where it rested on the table. “Quite right.”

Jon stood staring at her, hoping he could convey with just a look how much he loved her. “Thank you, milady. Right nice ‘a ya.”

 

 

Second floor, second hallway, second door. She came to her destination, DRY GOODS PANTRY, and looked at the timepiece in her hand— **2:20am** , she took a deep breath and knocked twice on the door. She let the breath out when the knob turned and the door opened slightly.

She pushed it open all the way and was suddenly wrapped up in strong arms pulling her into the room. “Oh my gods, Jon!” She took his face in her hands.

He rained kisses over her entire face, laying his hands over hers. “I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you I was leaving.” He smiled brighter than the candle placed on the shelf could compete with. “I got word of it, and I just had to go.”

“It’s real?” Her voice wavered and she bit her lip. “It’s really him.”

He nodded. “It’s really him. It’s Bran.”

Sansa wrapped her arms around his shoulders and laid her cheek on his. “I’m too afraid to believe it’s not a dream.”

“It’s real. I swear it.” He stroked a hand up and down her back. “I saw him with my own eyes. Spoke to him. I’m supposed to tell you that he loves you, and……….he has 283 points.”

Her heart sang and she laughed sweet and sure as joyful tears ran down her cheeks. She pulled back and replied to Jon’s quirked brow. “Ever since he was little, whenever we saw a raven, we’d add another point.”

Jon chuckled and his thumb lightly brushed against her cheeks. “He’s on his way to safety.”

“How?” She looked to the ceiling. “How, Jon?”

“Well,” he began, sitting on a large bag of flour. “your mother had a hand in it.”

She shook her head in confusion. “Mom?”

“A woman she knew, Brienne Tarth.” Jon nodded, momentarily slipping into sadness. “After Robb died, your mother feared that more danger would befall her children, or would befall her and she’d not be able to care for you. She made Brienne swear that if anything happened to her, she’d look after you all, do everything in her power to protect you.” Jon reached for her hand to pull her back to him. “She’s been scouring every inch of the kingdom, looking for Bran, ever since he went missing.”

“All because she made a promise to a woman who’s now dead?” Sansa sat on his knee, smiling widely and clasping her hands. “I didn’t believe people that honorable existed anymore.”

“She really is something.” Jon laughed, tugging on a strand of her hair. “She’s an old girlfriend of Tormund’s, and she contacted The Black Night for help with moving Bran and Meera.”

Sansa’s eyes widened. “No…..wait…..no Hodor?”

Jon looked to the floor. “No. Someone came after them, Lannisters, Boltons…..they never knew who.” Jon raised his watery eyes. “He and Meera’s brother died keeping Bran and Meera safe.”

“The sweetest and gentlest never survive.” She whispered, looking away. “It’s my fault.”

His index finger brought her face back to his. “No. That’s not true.”

“Where’s Bran now?” She blinked away her tears. “I want to see him.”

“Sansa.” Jon shook his head, pulling her into him. “He’s on his way to Braavos. With Meera and Brienne.”

“No.” Her breath caught and she sobbed freely, clutching his shoulders. “I want to see him! He can’t be _yet_ _another_ of my family I’ll never see again.”

Jon took her face in his hands and kissed her brow. “You’ll see him again. Brienne will find Arya. And once they’re finally together, we’ll get you to them when the time is right.” He kissed her lips lightly. “We’re going to spend our lives together. Us and your family. Love, my sweet, _I swear it_.”

She let out a long breath and traced his eyebrow with her thumb. “The right time better come soon.” She bit her lip and fixed her eyes to the rise and fall of his chest. “I won’t be able to hide it much longer.”

“Hide what, sweetling?”

She pulled his hand from her cheek and placed it on her belly. “The family I want to spend my life with……is soon going to include your baby.”

  


 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For history buffs, the parallel between Aegon the First's and The White Guard's weather trouble while invading the northern regions, also parallel's Napoleon's and Hitler's weather problems while invading Russia. Basically, the frozen Russian winter defeated Napoleon and Hitler more than the Russian army ever could.

**Author's Note:**

> Drama and intensity aren't really my jam, but let me know if this is something you'd like me to continue with. Thanks!!!!


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